So I had this dream the other night. Let me preface this by saying that this magazine takes up a lot of my time, so much time that my work here makes its way into my unconscious. It is not strange for me to wake up in a cold sweat yelling, “Oh Fuck! The cover!”

Anyway, the other night, after spending the evening watching Evil Dead and drinking Labatt 22’s, I went to bed expecting to have a nightmare about decaying, screaming zombie demons. I did not dream about chain-sawing my boyfriend; however, it was weirder than that.

Things started out fairly normal. I was coming into the Union when I saw the head honcho of UB, Johnny B. Simpson, hanging around cavorting with some other equally important person. Totally strange, because I saw the guy in the SU once and he flew through here. Dream President Simpson wasn’t wearing his typical crisp suit and circular frames; he was wearing worn-in jeans and a sweatshirt. He looked like somebody’s crazy uncle, the one who gets too drunk at Christmas.

Well, my dream-self overheard them mumbling excitedly to each other about the “magazine…blah blah…magazine…etc.” “Shit!” I thought. “I better get up to the office and warn everyone they are coming!”

I ran up the stairs and breathlessly barged through the door, freaking out because the freaking President of UB was going to come into the office. Only, I didn’t tell anyone, it just completely slipped my mind. Instead, myself and the other editors just sat around like a bunch of idiots not really doing any work amidst piles of old printouts and take-out containers.

Of course, a few minutes later the door swings open and in comes Simpson with his anonymous cohort in tow. I don’t know who the guy was supposed to be, but he looked exactly like Simpson, with short, graying hair, but he was wearing a tie-die shirt. Rad. So everyone one in the office was like, “Oh my god! What the fuck do we do!” So we just sat there, dumbfounded.

Instead of giving us some lecture about UB Believers or chastising us for constantly shitting on the school we go to, he was just like, “Hey! Generation! What’s up!” He even gave a round of high-fives.

We were totally pumped, I mean, ecstatic. He was joking around about giving us Vision’s sweet computers and asking us what we needed around the office. It was wild. The other guy was just hanging around giving fist pumps to everyone. It was like Johnny B. was our mentor or something. It was like he really cared about us, enough to stop by for some jokes and fun.

By the way, the office looked nothing like ours at 315 Student Union. It was one big, long room with windows flanking one side. Behind the windows was another room, but it was empty except for some chairs. On his way out, we asked Simpson, “Hey, can we use that room?” He said, “Nah. Not that one. We have plans for that one.” We all erupted into laughter.